


Realms of Clearer Light

by EdibleNonsense



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sad, basically dealing with the whole 'ooh yeah we forgot to age this character up' issue with Chiaotzu, implied Tien/Launch, proud owner of 'Tien is repressed and can't deal with feelings dot org' domain name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdibleNonsense/pseuds/EdibleNonsense
Summary: Chiaotzu isn't growing older. Tien knows this. But whether he can deal with it is a different issue.
Relationships: Chiaotzu & Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	Realms of Clearer Light

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know I promised a happy story with these two next, but this idea got done faster. Honestly, it's been in my mind a while, I just decided to write it when I was kind of angsting over other stuff. There's a big fic coming down the pipeline (for JJBA, not DBZ) but after that I'll have more DBZ ideas to write and publish. Hopefully!

Chiaotzu knew. 

He didn’t know when it started but he knew. What he had always sensed in the back of his mind was true: he wasn’t normal. No one had ever said that to him in so many words, but no one seemed entirely comfortable with him whenever he was around, he noticed. Was he an adult? A child? Something else entirely? After all, he didn’t feel any differently now than he had years and years ago. Both in mind and body. 

It wasn’t often he thought about this. Mostly because those types of thoughts led him down a path he never wanted to take. Once he accepted he would never change, he had to accept a few other truths. He would never… leave the world, so to say. Not naturally. And he would never grow.

He was in stasis. Now and forever. He wasn’t truly human and he could never be. He was just a doll on a shelf, taken down when someone else wanted to play with him. Put aside forever eventually. Gathering dust and tears.

Living on borrowed, infinite time. 

It wasn’t like it was the first time he had ever encountered these thoughts. Sure, for a few years after he and Tien left Crane School, he slowly began to become more aware something was wrong, deep inside his gut. He wasn’t very smart in many ways, but he was in tune with his intuition and, in a deeper way, the earth’s energy around him. He knew his existence brought questions along with it. And it wasn’t hard to tell that Tien had questions, too. 

Chiaotzu had tried to talk to him. Once. After leaving Crane School, but before they had both died in battle against Nappa. He remembered it clearly, because it was one of the few days when Tien wasn’t out training at the break of dawn, for whatever reason. Instead, they both sat on the stone ground outside the capsule house and talked. 

The memory was still burned into his brain.

* * *

“Tien.” 

The man perked up at the soft voice next to him. 

“Am I human?” 

The question had been like a punch to the gut for Tien to hear. Blinking twice, he stared at Chiaotzu, hunched over with his hands wrapped around his mug of tea.

“Yes.” He quickly added, because his answer was glaringly insufficient, “As human as I am.”

“Oh.” The word spoke volumes. A beat of silence passed. “No, I’m not.” 

Tien could feel his heart rate speed up. The conversation didn’t normally go this way. “Yes, you are,” he said a bit more sternly. “Who questioned you?”

“No one,” Chiaotzu replied quietly. His fingers traced the pattern on the outside of the cup.

“Then why are you upset?” He was playing with fire by responding like that to Chiaotzu of all people. He knew that. But it was a gamble. The more sharply he curbed this line of questioning, the more likely it would be settled forever. 

“Because I’m not…” Out of the corner of his eye, Tien could feel Chiaotzu looking around, mind still grasping for the proper terms, the proper words. He knew he was on the precipice.

“You shouldn’t worry about it, then.” His voice was clipped. Holding his breath, Tien waited for the inevitable silence. They could slide right into another topic.

Chiaotzu leaned back at the sound of his tone with confusion clear in his eyes. Still, he didn’t comply. Not as much as Tien thought he would. “Be… because…” 

“Don’t waste your energy on this, Chiaotzu.” 

_Please_. 

Tien’s heart felt like it was in a steel vice, being squeezed out like a soaked sponge, gushing everywhere. His throat was closing up. He would rather die a thousand deaths than speak about this one second longer. No more, no more.

“Tien… you know… how I—” He was desperate now, eyes softening into a pleading stare. Tien couldn’t meet his gaze. 

“Chiaotzu.” Too loud.

“I’m not grow—”

“Chiao _tzu!_ ”

The last syllable escalated to a primal yell, louder than any words Chiaotzu had heard come from Tien before. He flinched violently, dropping his mug. It shattered. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

Then, numbly, Tien stood, feeling like he could topple over at any moment. He could barely hear his own voice over his heartbeat. The words he spoke ended up coming out in a whisper. “Clean that up before you come inside.” 

Without another word, he walked mechanically to where he normally trained, up the mountain path and near the roaring waterfall. He didn’t remember what he did; he just knew his arms and legs hurt worse than usual the next day. 

It was long after midnight, long past when Chiaotzu had finally cried himself to sleep, before he came back to the capsule house.

* * *

Years had gone by, and it became glaringly obvious now something was wrong. And still no words were ever spoken. 

Tien would scale mountains for him, he would brave freezing cold rivers for him, he would die in gory, spine-chillingly painful ways that no other human being on the planet could ever hope to endure with a stoic face, for him and only him; Tien would go anywhere, do anything, be anyone, but the one thing he could not do was admit that anything was wrong with him. 

And so, a problem didn’t exist. A problem couldn’t exist. There was no room for it.

Chiaotzu was left to deal with it alone. In lieu of an outlet, he pushed it all so deeply down that he had no hope he would ever be able to fully understand his own feelings towards the matter. Instead, he looked outward. What people were saying. Their reactions after not seeing him for a while. The lingering stares from strangers. The double takes from the regulars at the farmer’s market year after year. 

If there were no reactions, he was safe. He was normal.

But not so much anymore. 

The more time that passed, the harder it was to avoid. And the more the feeling from so long ago clawed back up his body. First deep in his stomach, then his heart, then his throat. Before long, it was on his lips but trapped in his mouth, always too close for comfort. 

Tien’s words from years prior came back to haunt him.

 _As human as I am._

The first time he had said it, Chiaotzu had accepted it at face value. After all, Tien was the only person he had ever met with a third eye. The man clearly said it to comfort him, to help him feel close to someone, to show he wasn’t alone. In his own clumsy, stilted way, that moment was his way of reassuring him he saw him as family, Chiaotzu eventually realized. Even if this connection was only ever truly acknowledged by the two of them. Tien wanted to make sure he knew.

But Chiaotzu had seen it the more he studied him. The wrinkles on the edges of his eyes, the winces when he bent down to grab something. The shorter training days, even a slight change in muscle mass lately. Tien wasn’t like him. He wasn’t like him at all. 

And Chiaotzu knew this wasn’t the only issue Tien skirted, knowingly or unknowingly. He saw how his eyes lingered on the list of wanted criminals whenever he happened to pass by the flyers while on the way to the market, before going back to their empty and quiet house. He knew he occasionally practiced using the Tri-Beam, after promising multiple times to never use it again, far enough away from the house that Chiaotzu could only faintly sense the change in his ki. But he knew. He knew he did the same with the Mafuba. He knew he had never seen him cry. Not once. 

The rhythm of daily life continued on, and the things he wanted to say got washed down the river of time, lost in waves of monotony. Their relationship was a fixed point in a world of insanity, and without each other, they were truly indeed lost. Loading more weight onto a shaky structure always ends the same way each time. 

Neither one had any hope of changing it now. 

Still, Chiaotzu naturally wondered about the future. He found his mind only let him truly explore his own fears in the shadow of night. Maybe it was due to his psychic powers, but he had often had uncommonly lucid dreams that he still remembered after waking up. At first, he viewed them as terrifying, but as the years went by, he found he looked forward to them in a perversely strange way. 

The one that haunted him the most was when he was sitting by a freshly dug grave, sobbing louder and louder as the minutes went on. He didn’t see the name engraved on the headstone. But he didn’t have to see the name to know. 

It wasn’t his. It was never his. That was the worst part.

And whenever he woke up, he would always find his cheeks were already wet with tears.

* * *

They talked less as the years went on. It was natural; it wasn’t set off by any particular event. Like a cool rain in the middle of the desert, Launch’s visits were what saved them. They started out of nowhere, almost like when she had first begun to pop up after they became acquainted.

Chiaotzu knew Tien always instinctively shied away from her, the only person to challenge him on a purely emotional level. Daring him to verbalize his feelings both recklessly and tenderly like she did, no more and no less. In a way, it was a relief for Chiaotzu to see someone else seek Tien out whenever he grew too reclusive. Sometimes he would try to suggest visiting Kame House, but his words died like dust in the wind against Tien’s insistence that training was the priority and that mindless socializing would have to wait until there were no more threats. 

There were always more threats. And Tien knew that.

If Chiaotzu were being honest, it also helped him to see Launch, too. She always looked him directly in the eyes, even when she was yelling about something or other. Her blue-haired side was the only person he knew that routinely hugged him with both arms, fully embracing him and holding him close, rather than just going through the motions with a stiff and perfunctory grab. 

Sometimes he wished that her and Tien actually were properly together, instead of this roundabout dance they seemed to do. More for Tien’s sake than his. It was a wish he would never dare to state out loud. Even so, two names appeared on the gravestone in his dreams, right next to each other. It gave Chiaotzu a sickly sweet sense of contentment the first time he woke up after seeing it.

After a few months, she left with a wave and a promise to return. Chiaotzu saw Tien smile for the first time in months at that promise. Neither one heard anything about her until they read the story in the newspaper months and months later. The gravestone lettering in the cemetery was a lot less ornate than the one in his dreams.

* * *

Time slipped by like sand through a sieve. 

Eventually, Tien was unable to physically traverse more than the short walk to the washroom and back. This was partially inevitable and partially because of his insistence to never back down from using certain ki moves so many decades ago. Reckless, selfless choices made in haste now came back to haunt him in his old age. 

Chiaotzu knew it would be soon. The dreams were more frequent than ever.

One night after cleaning up a late dinner of noodles and rice that he prepared, Chiaotzu heard a faint cough and felt a shifting of the earth under his feet. Not literal shifting, but the very spirit of the earth that he’d only become more sensitive to in recent years. He abandoned the dirty dish he was working on and creeped back into the room. The first thing he saw were three shining eyes in the moonlight looking at him as soon as he walked in. 

“Chiaotzu…” 

In an instant, Chiaotzu was at his side, taking one of his worn and weak hands in his. He brought it up close so he could touch his cheek. Neither of them needed words, Chiaotzu knew this. After so many years, after so many struggles, so many moments, there were only so many things you can say to someone. And he’d never needed to hear the words to know it was true. Even after everything.

Chiaotzu’s vision blurred almost instantly. “I…” 

For one horrifying moment, he thought that he wouldn’t be able to say anything. He had imagined some kind of conversation like this so many times, it felt surreal that he was speaking in real life. 

But before Chiaotzu could continue, he heard Tien talk again. “I’m sorry. I never…” 

His weary eyes seemed to be straining to tell him something by themselves. Tien coughed, then continued. “I could never… let you—” He began to cough again. 

“Don’t waste your energy on this, Tien,” Chiaotzu whispered painfully, tears running freely down his cheeks. “P-Please.” 

Tien carried on. “—Speak about it. I wasn’t… brave enough…” 

“No, you were.” Chiaotzu felt like he was going to start sobbing, barely holding onto the composure he had. His hands were shaking. 

“I wasn’t,” Tien said plainly, his voice scratchy. He shook his head just enough that Chiaotzu feared he would strain his neck. “I’m so…” 

“You’re brave! You’re the bravest person I know.” Chiaotzu’s voice cracked loudly on the last word. He took a trembling breath in. 

“I was weak.” The pain was palpable in his voice. “Forgive me.” 

“I know you were just trying to protect me. And I know you were hurting,” Chiaotzu managed to get out before hiccuping. “I-I know. You did your best.” 

Tien stared forlornly up at him, despair overtaking him. “I don’t… want you… to be alone.” 

Chiaotzu smiled sadly, the cold tears running down his cheeks making him shiver. “I’m not. I never will be.” 

The man didn’t reply. At first, his dry lips tried to open to say something back, but instead he just searched the smaller of the two with a gaze that was indescribably soft. Understanding. Content. With his heart in his throat, Chiaotzu could see Tien’s usually sharp and discerning eyes were starting to unfocus, his facial muscles slackening just slightly enough that he could tell what was coming. They both could.

“Go see her,” Chiaotzu whispered. He knew Tien heard him even if he didn’t reply. 

For the final time, Chiaotzu placed Tien’s hand gently at his side, pulling the blankets up just enough to cover his arm. Suppressing his shaking and blinking away the tears that clouded his vision, Chiaotzu leaned back and laid his head in his own arms.

Tien didn’t stir after that. Chiaotzu couldn’t bring himself to look at his face again in the moonlight. He waited until morning before he let himself see the peaceful smile mingled with the glistening set of the only tears he ever saw on his face. 

* * *

The next time he dreamt, Chiaotzu saw two figures standing before him. Neither spoke, but they both put their hands out to him. Whenever he made a move, he would wake up. 

But he never woke up crying again. 


End file.
